


Parisian Interlude

by austenfan1990



Category: Gentleman Jack (TV)
Genre: Don't copy to another site, Established Relationship, F/F, Fluff, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-15
Updated: 2019-09-15
Packaged: 2020-10-19 04:42:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20651390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/austenfan1990/pseuds/austenfan1990
Summary: ‘I like Paris so much, I shall really regret leaving it so soon.’A short bit of fluff set at the end of the Ann(e)s’ stay in Paris in June 1834.





	Parisian Interlude

It is their last night in Paris and much of their evening is spent packing. Once finished, and out of habit, Anne reaches for her diary and scribbles in how long it has taken them. But as is so often the case, she gets carried away and it isn’t long before she’s jotting down an account of their entire day.

Her nib scratches deftly across paper until she realises the room has gone quiet, save a similar scratching noise from across the room. Ann.

‘I really should stop doing this, haven’t I?’ murmurs Anne to herself.

She begins to shut up her diary until Ann calls out, ‘Don’t move!’

Too startled by the command in her voice, Anne does as she is bid. At length, Ann sighs and sets down her sketchbook.

‘It’s no use,’ she says. ‘That sweet, intense candidness of countenance is quite gone.’

Anne doesn’t yet budge. ‘May I move now?’

‘Oh Lord, yes, of course!’ Anne makes a show of stretching her muscles which makes Ann laugh. It always warms her heart to see Ann in such good spirits, after all she has been through.

In one smooth movement, Anne hops off their bed and crosses the room, smiling. ‘And what are you doing so secretly over there, Miss Walker? Are you sketching me?’

‘It isn’t a secret,’ replies Ann, though she closes up her sketchbook at Anne’s approach.

‘Hmm, what do you call this then?’ She playfully reaches for the book, but not before Ann stands and laughingly darts out of the way. A small chase ensues, each of them nimbly weaving through their various bits of luggage strewn about the room. Heaven knows what their fellow guests think they’re up to at this late hour. (Both decide, independently, that they don’t care.)

‘Good things come to those who wait, Miss Lister,’ calls Ann over her shoulder.

‘Surely a little peek won’t be so very bad.’

‘Artist’s prerogative, I’m afraid.’ Ann finds herself boxed into a corner, but she holds her chin up high, arms clasped tight about her book. The sight of her takes Anne’s breath away.

A moment after recovering herself, she ventures: ‘Oh, and how about the sitter? We’ve got rights, too, you know.’ They step forward at the same time, but Ann startles her again – this time with a sound kiss on the lips – and makes good her escape.

But she is finally caught up in Anne’s arms and not a moment too soon for they hear a sudden rap at the door. They quieten down immediately, stifling each other’s laughter as the man outside curses in rapid French before eventually stomping off.

‘And the same to you, too,’ Anne whispers after the retreating Frenchman.

‘What did he say?’

‘Something about young’uns being on the amoroso, followed by some very choice swearwords. Quite untranslatable.’

‘So very French.’

‘Very, _very_ French.’

Ann laughs and leans into Anne’s collar, before winding an arm around her neck. Anne rests her cheek against Ann’s, happy just to be held.

‘I could stay like this forever,’ sighs Ann contentedly.

‘So could I,’ agrees Anne. ‘Although...’ She makes to wriggle the sketchbook out of Ann’s hand which is still wedged between them. ‘...we could do without this. I promise I won’t look.’

At her nod, Anne sets it aside on a nearby table. With her arms set at liberty, Ann wraps them both around Anne’s neck. They begin swaying on their feet, revolving slowly on the spot. Subconsciously, Anne begins humming.

Minutes pass. Again, the room falls silent, bar Anne’s humming and the crackling fire in the grate. But it is a comforting silence, a companionable one, and one that Anne had not dreamed of having even as late as half a year ago. And what a companion Ann has been! She had taken to travel like a duck to water and both had already observed her improved complexion and appetite.

Ann’s head droops to the side, her breathing deepening. Anne has inadvertently lulled her to sleep. Well, it has been quite a long week and they have an early start tomorrow. Best to get to bed, especially when both of them are still in their daywear.

Anne makes to gently remove Ann’s arm when she says drowsily: ‘What was that you were humming, Anne?’

‘Hmm?’ Anne blinks, suddenly unable to recall. ‘Oh, this. Just a little something I heard at the Queen of Denmark’s birthday ball.’

‘It’s lovely.’

‘If I had my flute with me, I could play it to you.’

‘And incur the wrath of our neighbour, Monsieur Frenchman?’ smiles Ann. A visible thought occurs to her. ‘I didn’t know you played the flute.’

‘Well, Miss Walker, you married a woman of many hidden talents.’

‘Really? And what are the others you’ve yet to reveal?’

‘Shooting and sword fighting.’

Ann considers this before bursting into laughter.

‘I think I’ll stick to the flute-playing.’ But her expression is kind and amused, and Anne can’t help laughing, too.

‘Only when necessity calls for them, of course,’ she explains. ‘Have no fear, I haven’t packed a brace of pistols into our luggage.’ She flashes a smile. ‘This time.’

‘This time? Where on earth would you think it necessary to bring them?’

‘Oh, I don’t know. I was thinking of Russia.’

‘Oh! Aunt Anne said you always wanted to visit Russia.’

‘Well, yes, I do believe I’ve rambled on about the place on several occasions. Perhaps more than I ought,’ she admits. ‘Dear Aunt. But now _we_…’ – Anne clasps Ann’s hand tightly and brings it to her lips – ‘…can travel there together. One day.’

Ann gazes warmly at her. ‘I would like that. But as you say…one day.’

‘Indeed, Russia can wait. Just like your portrait of me, isn’t that so?’ Ann nods. ‘But first –’

Anne steps back and bows gracefully, never letting go of Ann’s hand throughout. ‘Care to dance?’

‘What, here? Now?’ Ann doesn’t know whether to be delighted or utterly bemused.

‘No time like the present,’ replies Anne smoothly, pulling her into an embrace and settling back into a jaunty tune. ‘We are still in Paris, after all.’


End file.
